Songs Screamed from a Ship, Long Since Sank
by Tall on the Inside
Summary: Short oneshot for the 100th anniversary of the Titanic. England had once told him that he didn't have dreams.  Instead, at night, when he closed his eyes, he was haunted by history.


**Author's Note:**

So here it is, a short piece for the Titanic's 100th anniversary.

Don't own Hetalia, or anything else mentioned.

Apologies for SPAG mistakes, uploading via my phone, and auto-correct hates my face.

* * *

England had once told him that he didn't have dreams. He had told him that it had been a very long time since he had last dreamt.

Instead, at night, when he closed his eyes, he was haunted by his history. By the mistakes he'd made. By all the wars he'd fought, and all the lives he'd claimed.

He said that sometimes, when America was there, he made the memories go away.

And sometimes he brought them back.

America didn't know what England remembered, but he had lived through enough bloodshed to understand the horrors of memory.

Occasionally England would phone him in his half-dreaming state, sobbing and wailing incomprehensible things. He'd talk about how he'd killed, and promise America that he hadn't meant to, and America would just make reassuring noises, as England had once done to him as a child, until one of his siblings heard him and came to comfort him, or until he cried himself to sleep. Whichever came first.

He assumed that it was because of these nightmares that England wasn't acting himself. At the last World Meeting, England had looked exhausted. There were rings around his green eyes from his lack of didn't even have the effort to argue with France, who would look over to him and give him sympathetic looks every now and again.

This confused America slightly; the looks France usually gave England tended to show that he either thought he was better than him, or was thinking dirty, dirty things about him.

At the Lunch Break, America had thought France would be his best shot at understanding what was up with England.

He said exactly, "Yo, France, dude, what the hell is up with England?"

France gave him a dumbfounded look. "You don't know?"

"Duh. That's kinda why I'm asking you." America raised his eyebrows slightly at the response.

"Think about the date, America," France stared at him with half-lidded, unimpressed eyes. "Anything special happen today?"

America thought for a second. "It's April 14th... And we had a World Meeting?"

France rolled his eyes and sauntered off, clearly under the impression that he had better things to do than talk to America.

Hrmph. He didn't have to rely on France for answers. He had his best friend Google by his side! He was invincible!

He pulled out his phone and brought up the Internet, before typing in everyone's favourite search engine the words "england april 14".

He didn't even bother to use capital letters.

He scrolled down past some stuff about horse racing and the BBC until he came to a Wikipedia file named "April 14".

See. Wikipedia uses capitals. Because they're classy like that.

He clicked on the file, and then on another marked "Events". He smiled at the joy of knowing he now had to read.

Okay, so stuff about people he'd never heard of... Some guy became King of the Germans, good for him... Oh, something about England- but it happened about six hundred years ago, there was no way that was the stuff France was on about.

He continued to scroll down.

Swedes and the Thirty Year War... Was England involved in the Thirty Year- AMERICA! There was stuff about America!

Damn, his country was awesome. Some people were being freed and some stupid law was being abolished.

There was no way that was what was upsetting England though. It happened to him, and he didn't even remember the day.

Slave in British-ruled Barbados... Perhaps, but he doubted it.

Woot, California! Oh wait, cannibalism? Not as awesome as he thought...

Wait, wait, wait, "Hungary declares itself independent of Austria"? Well, that sounds like fu-

Abraham Lincoln assassinated? How the fuck had he forgotten that? No wonder England was so upset...

More stuff about the awesome land of the free, Ottoman Empire, blah blah blah, British passenger liner, Sweden, Spanish Rep- wait.

He scrolled back up.

"The British passenger liner RMS Titanic hits an iceberg in the North Atlantic at 11:40pm."

Shit.

"The ship sinks the following morning with the loss of 1,517 lives."

And that was a hundred years ago today.

Double shit.

He couldn't believe he'd forgotten that. Although, truth be told, he was still in shock about not remembering Lincoln had been assassinated.

But still, he could understand England being upset at the hundred year anniversary of a thing like that.

It wasn't all that long ago he'd been miserable at an anniversary of his own.

His gaze flicked from his phone to the island nation sat in the corner on his own, eyes staring blankly down at his cup of tea.

America went to him, and took the vacant seat next to him.

"Were you on it?" he asked.

England only nodded.

He had no need to ask what America was referring to.

He took a sip of his tea, before saying, in a voice that sounded foreign to the larger country, "With Ireland."

America watched England closely, trying to place his expression. "You're exhausted," he finally said. "Let's get you home."

"But-"

"I think everyone'll understand if you miss the meeting, just this once."

Proving America correct on how little sleep he had gotten, England didn't fight, he merely murmured agreement.

...

Whilst getting England home was easy enough, getting him to bed was another manner entirely.

"He won't sleep," Wales told him as he handed America a drink. "He hasn't slept properly for about a week."

"Yeah, and every time he has fallen asleep, bastard has to start yelling and wake the entire house up," groaned Scotland, glaring at his younger brother.

England found the energy from somewhere to raise two fingers.

"I think it's all rather exciting," cheered Sealand, running through the kitchen with his arms extended, like an airplane. "Nothing more fun than being woken up by screaming in the middle of the night!"

"Oi, shut up, you wee fucktard!" yelled Scotland aggressively. "No one asked your opinion! You're less of a country than Rhys is! I thought we'd shipped you off to Scandinavia and cut ties with you?"

Whilst Sealand explained that he had as much right to be with his brothers as Scotland did, Wales' eyes began to water at the fact Scotland didn't think he was much of a country.

America never particularly like being surrounded by the British Isles.

He could feel Ireland's gaze on him, and it was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Northern Ireland yelled at Scotland, telling him to pull his act together and cut England some slack, which only got Scotland more enraged.

"When the hell did the bastard ever cut me slack, eh?" he screamed. "Tell me when that happened?"

"Scotland, I don't know how many times I'll have to tell you this," came England's emotionless response, "but I'm more than happy for you to get the fuck out of Great Britain. I believe it was you who chose to stay."

Scotland folded his arms and stormed upstairs.

Wales shot a sorrowful glance at England before saying, "I'd better go talk to him. You take good care of Artie, okay America?"

He nodded.

"Good," Wales left the room, running up the stairs after Scotland.

"We'd best be off," Northern Ireland grabbed her coat from where it rested. Ireland didn't need to get his, as he was wearing that yellow raincoat he never took off, like some kind of creepy fisherman slasher. Northern Ireland handed him his umbrella, and he stood up and left. Without saying a word to anyone.

Although America swore he'd never actually heard him speak to anyone but Northern Ireland.

She looked at him. "Did you mean it? About looking after England?"

"Of course," America's voice was solemn.

"You better; if you don't, I'll cut you."

She let the door slam shut. America gulped.

Why the hell were all of England's siblings completely insane?

...

America stayed with England that night. The island nation would deny it in the morning, America was sure, but he had begged him not to leave.

He sat in the corner of England's room, playing some games on his phone, listening to the man's heavy breathing.

He had no idea when that breathing become sobbing, but sure enough, it did. And America, for all his talk of being the hero, found himself unsure of what to do, or say.

So he just sat there, watching.

"There was a man," England said finally, pushing himself up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, "who gave up his seat for me. He didn't need to, there would've been room elsewhere. Maybe. "

America chose to listen, and not interrupt.

"His wife and children were on that boat. She was horrified when he got out, but he told her that he'd be fine, and that he'd expect the same thing to be done for him."

England paused, and chuckled slightly. "I remember their voices perfectly, and sometimes, I can still see his face, but I never knew his name, nor will I ever discover it. He's just a nameless hero, a man who sacrificed his life, just to keep a stranger safe."

America opened his mouth to speak, to say anything, but England didn't notice, and continued.

"I wish I hadn't taken that seat. I wish I'd given it up for someone else. I remember, as the ship went down, that there was a woman, probably third-class, who just sat there, holding her son, like she knew she wouldn't be given a seat on a lifeboat. And she sang to him."

A smile flickered on England's lips. "It was a beautiful song, America. I forget what it was about. But the melody..." He began to hum. Softly, quietly, closing his eye, he began to hum.

America tried to make sense of this. He didn't understand why England had told him that, he assumed the man was still half-dreaming.

He watched England lie back down. But he didn't go to sleep.

He began to sing louder.

"England," America began cautiously, "what are you doing?"

"I'm singing," England murmured back. "I'm singing so I can't hear their screams."

...

It was almost as if England became obsessed with that song for the next week or so.

Whenever America saw him, he was humming lightly, under his breath.

He'd been told that England was trying to work out the notes for it, to turn it to a piece he could play on the piano, or the violin, or whatever.

America didn't mind.

He hoped that the song would bring England piece.

He hoped that the song would always drown out the sound of screaming.

* * *

**Extended A/N:**

I had intended to write an AU oneshot for the Titanic, something like the series they've got going on on ITV at the moment, but, after starting that, I grew bored and decided to write this instead. I think it's far from perfect, and that I could have done a lot better, but at least I've written something, which I felt like I needed to do.

Yeah, I actually did the Google search mentioned in the story, so if you do it, you should come up with the same results.

In case you couldn't tell, which you probably couldn't, I'm not American, so I have no idea how Americans are reacting to the Titanic's anniversary, and I especially didn't know that stuff about Abraham Lincoln. I mean, I knew he was assassinated and stuff, but yeah.

Anyways, America forgetting about the Titanic was the easiest way to get the statistics in, which I wanted to do. Apologies if that is offensive and stuff.

Thanks for reading! I hope to see you again soon at some of my other stories!


End file.
